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Matt smiled, squeezing his eyes to try and clear away some of the water that had started to collect in them. The girl in front of him was talking about her advisor and how much he was screwing up her thesis proposal. She smelled like cheap beer and spiked punch, the bracelets on her wrists sending waves through the air every time they clicked together.
Despite his disinterest, Matt made sure his head was angled towards her, body turned and open, projecting the right type of message. His control over his senses was slipping a bit, however, the alcohol making his brain fuzzy and tired. Twice, he’d had to apologize for making a rude face as some undergrad three buildings over had barfed in an alleyway.
Foggy had abandoned him an hour ago. He’d meant to only be gone for a few minutes, first for the bathroom and then for another beer, but had gotten waylaid halfway through the hallway. Matt had followed him with his senses for the first twenty minutes, but he had gotten distracted when someone suddenly cranked the music up right next to his ear. After a quick flash of deafness, he’d been too disorientated to relocate Foggy through the crowd. He settled on leaning against the wall next to a plastic tree and politely making small talk whenever somebody initiated it.
A woman called out from the other side of the room. “Matt Murdock? Does anyone know where Matt Murdock is?” Matt recognized it as the hostess’s friend, the one who had written his name down on a little piece of paper at the start of the party.
Beer sloshed against the sides of a plastic cup as the girl in front of him reached out to grab at his arm. She swept her tongue against her lips, saliva like stale bread.
“Sorry,” Matt said, already extracting himself from the squeeze of her body against his. “But I’m actually being called over right now. Such a shame. It was really lovely speaking to you, though, um. Sarah, was it?” He gripped his cane, angling towards an open spot on the floor.
“Shana, actually,” she said.
“Right,” Matt said, already putting the finishing touches on his mental route from Point A to Point B. “Again, sorry. But, you know.”
He quickly skirted around a trio of partygoers, relying on them to form an adequate shield between him and Shana. He heard nothing more than a muttered “Dick” from her, so he figured he was in the clear.
“I’m Matt Murdock,” he said as he navigated through the crowd. The woman paused and looked around for him. Matt gave a little half-wave and pointed at himself.
“You’re Matt Murdock?” she asked. Matt nodded. Up close, she smelled sweet, a combination of fruity vodka and the hostess’s perfume.
“Perfect,” she said.
She grabbed his arm and started to pull him down the hallway. Her grip was firm and sharp with acrylic nails.
“Um, if I may ask, where exactly are you taking me?” Matt asked. He wondered if this was some odd form of kidnapping. Stick had told him about teens, snatched away with nothing more than an attacker’s strong will.
Wait. What if this was about Foggy? She knew that they had come in together, so they were obviously friends. What if something had happened to Foggy during those forty minutes that Matt had been unable to sense him? Matt knew Foggy liked to binge drink and, when Foggy drank, there was no telling what would happen. Matt had seen him do everything while plastered, including writing a thirty-page paper and defending a group of high school girls from some drunken assholes. The first had resulted in an almost-perfect score; the second had given him a bloody nose.
He froze in his tracks, yanking back on the woman’s arm. She swore, letting go of his hand to rotate her shoulder.
“Where are you taking me?” he asked, much more forcibly than before. A few people turned to look at him, startled by his tone.
“Ow, Jesus,” she said. “You don’t have to be such an asshole. I’m here because it’s your turn to play. But, if you didn’t want to do it, you could’ve just said something.”
“Play? Play what?” Matt wasn’t usually asked to play games at parties for obvious reasons. Foggy had taught him beer pong once. After completely missing all of his previous shots, Matt made sure to get in one “lucky” one just so he could feel Foggy’s surprised hug.
The woman sighed. “Look, it’s basically a ramped-up version of Seven Minutes in Heaven. You know, that game from when we were all twelve? Maddy wanted to do it, because it’s her twenty-seventh birthday and all. Thought it’d be cute.
“Anyway, you just go into the closet with whoever’s name we pull out of the hat--that’s what the name paper things were for--and do whatever the hell you want with them. Make out, play with their tits, anything. I don’t give a shit if you guys discuss Franklin Fucking Roosevelt. Just keep the damn door shut until we come get you.”
Matt gripped his cane, still processing her entire explanation. “And, what if we don’t want to play?” he asked.
The woman sighed again, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Look, I get that this is a pain, but just go with it. Maddy’s had a shitty few weeks and she wanted me to put together this stupid game for her party. It’s only a few minutes of awkward small talk, and then you’ll be home free. If they creep you out just, like, bean them with a snow boot or something.”
Matt thought about the night where he and Foggy had hopped from bar to bar, skin sticky with frosting and beer, listening as Foggy tried to convince the bartenders that, if El Taco could spare an entire plate of churros for his birthday, then they could cough up one measly little sip of whiskey in celebration of this soon-to-be national holiday.
“Ok,” he said, “just tell me where I have to go.”
“Great,” she said. “Follow me.” She grabbed his arm again, steering him through the apartment.
They stopped in the corner of the living room. Some people looked up at them, but most just ignored him. Their heart rates were slow, indicating that they had become bored with whistling at every new pair matched up for the game. Only the hostess, bedecked with dozens of plastic bead necklaces, perked up from her place on the couch.
“Oh, he’s a looker!” she shrieked. She reeked of vodka and Jell-O. “I got the other one in there, all set up. Make sure this one gets the blindfold, too, Sam. We have to keep the allure.”
Sam looked at Matt. “Really, Maddy?” she said. “I don’t think it’s going to make much of a difference.”
The hostess pointed her plastic wineglass at her friend, beer dangerously close to slipping out. “No, Sam. I don’t give a shit if he’s blind or not. Give him the damn blindfold. Equal opportunity and all that crap.”
“Jesus Christ,” Sam muttered. “All right, I get it.” She turned to Matt. “Look, is it ok if I put this on you? You can take it off once you get in there. It’s just, Maddy can be kind of bitchy when she’s drunk.”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Matt said. He removed his glasses and tucked them into the pocket of his jeans, then turned back to the girl.
He heard her heartbeat go up, the sudden rush of blood indicating her blush. “Ok,” she said, “let me just.” She reached up with a wide strip of cloth and tied it around his eyes. It did absolutely nothing to dampen his senses, but the roughness of the cloth irritated his skin.
“Come on. It’s just through here,” Sam said, leading him into the bedroom. They stopped in front of a closed door. “They’re in there.” She placed her hand on the doorknob. “One of us will come get you once your time is up. I won’t lock the door or anything, so don’t worry about that.”
Matt nodded. The bedroom was much quieter than the rest of the apartment, giving him the space to recalibrate his senses. He focused on the person inside the closet, trying to get a feel for who they were.
He heard the heavy shifting of feet, hands playing with the lint at the bottom of their pockets. Sweat speckled along the sides of their mask where it had compressed bunches of hair, smelling like beer and cheap conditioner.
Matt’s eyes went wide behind his own mask. “Wait,” he said, but Sam had already swung open the door and pushed him inside.
“Have fun, you two,” she said, and shut the door.
Matt gently placed his cane in the corner of the closet, making sure it didn’t hit any walls or clang against the metal shelves. A faint detergent smell clung to the layers of clothes on either side of him. His own heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out the familiar one of the guy in front of him.
“Well, this is awkward,” said Foggy.
Matt stopped.
“Anyways,” Foggy said, “I guess introductions are in order.” He stepped away from the back wall of the closet. “If one of us turns out to be a murderer, the other one can at least use their dying breath to make sure one of those drunken lunatics out there avenges their death. My name’s Foggy. I would recommend Lucy out there to be your revenge-getter-er. She’s tiny, but fast, and I am currently cardio-intolerant.”
Matt smiled, like he always did when Foggy joked around. He could speak up and tell Foggy who he was. They would probably pull off their blindfolds and spend the next seven minutes snooping through the contents of the closet. Foggy would also insist on making loud, exaggerated sex moans, so the peanut gallery could have a good show.
“I guess we’ve got a strong, silent type over here,” said Foggy. “That’s alright. I’ve probably got enough material to last us all night. I’m like a Seinfeld character.” He paused. “Unless, you don’t want to talk. I mean, putting the image of Kramer into your mind probably wasn’t the greatest turn-on in the world, but we could make up for it.”
Matt gritted his teeth. He should speak up. Foggy would recognize the sound of his voice. He should end this right now.
Foggy took a small step forward. “Look, um, tell me if you want me to stop,” he said.
He lifted his arm, searching for Matt. His hand landed on the side of Matt’s stomach, before he dragged it over, fingers skimming along Matt’s abs. “Jeez,” he whispered, “you’re really ripped down here, dude.”
Matt laughed, feeling Foggy’s hand rise up with his stomach.
The fingers quickly worked their way up to Matt’s chest. He hissed when they brushed over his pecs, causing his shirt to scrape over a nipple. Foggy’s breath hitched. He moved his hand back down, dragging the shirt in a small circle over the sensitive point.
Matt ducked his head down, burying his nose into the side of Foggy’s cheek.
“Ok, ok,” Foggy said. He abandoned Matt’s chest, fingers dipping momentarily up into the space by his collarbone. “Dude, you should probably stop smelling me if we want to get some making-out action going on.”
Matt jerked away. He hadn’t realized that he had been steadily sniffing the glands behind Foggy’s ears, breathing in Foggy’s scent.
“No, no. It’s fine, I get it,” Foggy said. He cupped Matt’s cheek with the hand still resting on him. “It’s just, you know, we’ve only got seven minutes, so we should really get going if we want to make it to the church on time.”
He was right, Matt realized. They had probably used up at least two minutes by now. If they didn’t do this soon, it might never happen.
He pitched forward. After all, he was the one with more experience navigating in the dark, so he should be the one to make sure everything lined up where it was supposed to go.
Foggy sucked in a surprised breath, which quickly turned into a small huff of laughter. Matt felt each puff of air against his lips.
Foggy’s lips were soft and tasted of Chapstick. Matt moved along them, kissing every inch. He gently pecked the prominent bow of Foggy’s upper lip, and then switched to the lower lip, sucking on it harder when Foggy groaned.
Foggy’s hand dropped from Matt’s cheek down to his bicep. He squeezed as Matt pushed them further against the wall. The other hand moved up to Matt’s waist, clutching to the patch of skin between Matt’s shirt and pants. Foggy’s fingers brushed along Matt’s hip, occasionally sliding under the waistline of his jeans.
Clothes brushed their shoulders as they moved against each other. Matt kissed the corner of Foggy’s mouth and frowned as he tasted an oily smudge of lip-gloss. He spent a few seconds sucking around that spot, eliminating the last remnants. Then he worked his tongue into Foggy’s mouth, brushing along the edges of his teeth and gently scraping the roof of his mouth.
Foggy hooked his fingers into Matt’s belt loops and pulled their hips together. The zipper of Matt’s pants rubbed against him as they moved. Matt brought both of his hands down to Foggy’s waist to help anchor them. He wished he could work his fingers into Foggy’s hair without upsetting the blindfold. Instead, he settled for squeezing Foggy’s ass cheek with one hand, smiling at Foggy’s chuckle.
Matt’s senses worked to quickly catalogue a wealth of new information. The scent of Foggy’s arousal filled the closet. This fresh, warm smell was so much stronger than the stale crust that clung to Foggy’s skin after he’d had sex or jerked off. Matt listened to the sound of blood rushing quickly through Foggy’s veins, congregating on his face and in his groin. His heartbeat fluttered in Matt’s ears.
He broke away from Foggy’s mouth. Foggy’s lips were radiating heat. Matt knew that, if Foggy were to look into a mirror right now, he would find his lips reddened and plumped from Matt’s teeth.
Matt kissed his way down Foggy’s jaw, feeling the rough patches Foggy had missed with his razor. There was a gurgle as Foggy swallowed and Matt followed the movement with his mouth, placing a small kiss on Foggy’s Adam’s apple.
“Dude, you know, I, um,” Foggy said, voice satisfyingly raspy. Matt didn’t let him finish, scraping his teeth along the crook of Foggy’s neck while simultaneously grinding hard into Foggy’s crotch.
“Fuck,” Foggy whispered, throwing his head back. There was a hard crack of bone against the wall, and Matt felt Foggy’s muscles seize up into a wince. He relinquished his hold on Foggy’s ass, bringing the hand up to cushion the back of Foggy’s head.
“Careful,” he whispered, biting Foggy’s earlobe.
Foggy stiffened.
Shit.
Matt placed a line of frantic kisses back down the side of Foggy’s neck, feeling out the vibrations of his pulse.
“So, he speaks,” Foggy said.
Matt bent his head over Foggy’s shoulder, forehead brushing against his shirt. Their hips separated.
For a second, they just stood there. Foggy still had a hand clutching loosely to the waistband of Matt’s jeans.
“Look,” Foggy said, “I, uh, know that you probably wanted to keep your identity a secret, you know, Batman-style, so, um, let me just tell you that I, a lowly citizen of Gotham, have still not discerned your true, rich-boy origins. I’m like Commissioner Gordon, except if he and Batman had really hot make-out sessions on the roof, which, you know, might be kind of hot if you’re into the sort of thing, but, see, for me, I personally prefer the hot make-out session in which we were just engaged.”
Matt lifted his head. Foggy’s face was heating up even more as he spoke.
Foggy sighed. “Anyways, what I’m trying to say, in case you can’t translate, is that there’s loads of guys at this party, so I honestly can’t tell which one of them is you. And, as I recall, we were up to something that was pretty great in my books, and which I would kind of like to continue doing, if it’s fine by you.”
Matt frowned. Foggy wasn’t lying, but he was too tense for full honesty. His heart pounded, but Matt couldn’t tell if it was arousal or fear.
Foggy leaned back against the wall, separating their bodies even more. “If you don’t mind,” he murmured, bringing his hand up to cup Matt’s cheek. His fingertips skated over Matt’s jaw, scraping against his stubble.
He tilted his head up and placed a soft kiss on Matt’s lips, like Matt would do to a girl after their first date. Although Foggy’s lips were swollen and tender from their previous ministrations, he kept the kiss chaste. His hand cradled Matt’s face, keeping him in place.
Matt pushed against the hand, trying to deepen their kiss again. He wanted to sink into him, but Foggy resisted. Sure, the kiss was sweet, but it wasn’t the hot rush of hormones that they had previously been doing. Matt wanted more. He wanted all of Foggy.
He brought both hands down to Foggy’s back. There was a spot there that Matt knew would cause Foggy to melt if Matt could rub it just right. He lightly brushed his hands along Foggy’s shirt, using his thumbs to press into Foggy’s muscles.
Foggy hummed into the kiss, body going slack. Matt propped him up against the wall and pushed forward with his entire body, making sure they touched each other from head to toe.
He slid his tongue against the seam of Foggy’s mouth, and reveled when Foggy’s lips parted.
-don’t know who the hell she is. Didn’t she come with Nate, the big tall one?
Matt frowned, but continued to work Foggy’s mouth open.
Make sure to get Foggy and whatever-the-fuck-his-name is out first, though. They’ve been in there way too long. They’re probably dead by now.
Or fucking. A giggle.
Matt broke away immediately.
He probably had five minutes, at absolute most, to get out of the closet and away from Foggy. If he rushed too much, however, Foggy would get suspicious and take off his blindfold to see Matt standing there in front of him.
Matt needed some way to put an end to their make-out session and leave without Foggy realizing what he was doing. Stick’s voice in his head told him just to knock out the bastard and act sympathetic later, but Matt quickly shut that thought down.
“Go.”
Matt frowned, wondering if he had conjured up the voice in his head.
“Come on, I know you want to,” Foggy said. Matt hadn’t noticed how far they had gotten away from each other. He stood in the same spot as before, head angled towards the hostess’s chatter, but Foggy had backed himself up against one of the wire racks, far from Matt.
Foggy reached up to run his fingers through his hair, but stopped when he seemed to realize the futility of his actions. “Just, you leave first, and then I’ll follow,” he said. “I won’t even take this thing off until you’ve gone.”
Matt paused, but he knew an opportunity when he saw one. Trust Foggy to think of a perfectly simple solution to their problem.
Matt wanted to thank Foggy for his suggestion, but that would mean a second slip-up for the night. Instead, he reached over to wrap his arms around Foggy, feeling the warmth bleed through their shirts. Foggy stiffened, but Matt knew he could never resist it when somebody gave him a hug. He relaxed and hugged back, awkwardly patting Matt’s shoulder blades.
Matt released Foggy and undid the knot in his blindfold, draping it over the edge of one of the lower shelves. He grabbed his cane, careful not to let it hit anything, and walked out into the bedroom. He stood by the open door for a second and watched the swirl of Foggy’s heat signatures. Then, he closed the door behind him and made his way to the center of the room.
There was a window at the far end of the room. Matt figured it would be his best option, as it didn’t have a screen and opened right onto the balcony. Conversation drifted over from the room next door. It might be easier to drift back into the crowd, but the potential of being recognized and having that information spread back to Foggy was a risk that Matt didn’t feel like taking.
The wind raised goose bumps on Matt’s arms as he opened the window. There were no people on this edge of the balcony, and no one was near enough to be able to spot him. He set his cane against the exterior wall and slid outside.
Once outside, he quickly walked the length of the balcony until he hit its end. His entrance into the crowd went relatively unnoticed, save for the attention that usually came with his appearance. Somebody came up to him, smelling of the racks at Bergdorf’s. He refused her offer of a drink and settled in the corner of the balcony’s railing.
Foggy was still in the closet, three rooms away. He reached up to untie his blindfold and pulled it from his face. Matt listened as he fluffed his hair back into shape and straightened his clothes.
Foggy stood for a while, playing with the edges of his blindfold. He turned and picked up Matt’s blindfold from the shelf. Matt listened to the air being pushed in and out of Foggy’s lungs. He scratched the two blindfolds against each other.
“Goddamnit, Nelson,” Foggy whispered, wiping his hand across his face.
There was a bathroom attached to the bedroom. Foggy walked out of the closet and into the on-suite. He grabbed a washcloth from the counter and used it to clean his face.
Matt wondered about his own appearance. He used his fingers to comb through his hair, hoping that it solved any disarray that their situation had caused. His clothes weren’t badly disheveled, just in need of straightening.
He felt along his neck and collarbone, searching for any bright spots of heat that would indicate a hickey. Thankfully, there were none.
Matt thought about Foggy’s neck and wondered if it was similarly unmarked. Something twisted in his stomach. He wanted Foggy to bear evidence of tonight. Matt wanted to sit in their apartment and listen to the blood flow into those broken capillaries, to hear Foggy’s breath hitch every time he saw himself in a mirror.
Someone slid open the balcony door in front of him. The warm air wrapped around Matt, and he decided to go back into the apartment.
The hostess had run into Foggy when she brought one of the new players into the room. Matt panicked for a second, positive that she would tell him something incriminating about who his partner has been. Something like, “Oh, that blind guy” would do the trick nicely, but she didn’t. She teased him about “having a good time,” but Foggy didn’t respond to her jokes. He just said a couple words of greeting, then shuffled out of the bedroom.
Matt frowned. Foggy wasn’t stopping to chat with anyone or going to get a drink from the kitchen. He was walking through the rooms, clearly searching. Matt wondered if he should make himself scarce.
He was still thinking about his options when Foggy appeared on the opposite end of the room. Matt listened to him navigating his way around the partygoers.
“Matt! There you are, buddy,” he said, finally stopping. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
There was a stammer in his heartbeat.
“Well, I’ve been here,” Matt said, waving vaguely around.
“Yeah.” Foggy gave a nervous laugh. “Sorry for abandoning you.”
There was a pause where neither of them said anything. A girl passed behind Foggy, holding her beer cup aloft.
“Well, um, I’m kind of beat,” Foggy said, forcing a yawn. “Do you mind if we split?”
“Actually, that sounds wonderful,” Matt said. He could definitely use someplace that didn’t have as many distractions as the party, even if it meant being in closer quarters to Foggy.
Foggy turned to leave, but, before he could walk anywhere, Matt grabbed his arm.
“Is it all right if you lead?” he said. “It’s still a little crowded in here.”
Foggy’s heartbeat sped up, and Matt heard the rush of blood to his face. “Yeah,” he said, “that’s fine.”
Matt smiled. “Perfect.”